


All in a day's work

by Kairin16



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5 Times, Background Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Imprisonment, M/M, The last two are only mentioned, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 00:46:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kairin16/pseuds/Kairin16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 Times Phil was a badass and 1 time something slipped past him</p>
            </blockquote>





	All in a day's work

There are many rumours about what skills Phil Coulson has and what not. For a long time almost everyone in SHIELD were sure that he was a paper pusher, typical white collar type that he knew everything in theory, but never really was in the field. These he knew otherwise, marveled at how can he keep that defenseless façade when he can just as easily break someone’s neck with his hands as to kill them with one of his bullpens. But then the security footage of him kicking the ass of the robber with a bag of flour leaked to the internet and no matter how much he was displeased with it, the proverbial cat was out of the bag. Everyone looks at him differently now and he even discovered a betting pool of what secret skill he has under that stoic mask of his.

Barton was of course the one who started it at all and he was supposed to be the one to find out if the bet is legitimate or not. Just for that, Phil grounds him into a desk work for a month. It’s a lesson for the Hawk and a warning to anyone else who would like to try their strength against vice-director Coulson. He, in fact, doesn’t have something in his dictionary that would translate to “unable” so really, the betting pool is moot anyway.

1.

The mission was supposed to be a simple recon. In and out in no more than a day. What the team didn’t expect was for the enemy to move sooner than expected and the warehouse they were supposed to search through, to be full of enemy combatants, armed to their teeth. Phil was a team leader, but he wasn’t their handler. He was just one year shy out of the academy and although his superiors have given him position higher than his combat expertise would allow for normally, he still wasn’t the one in charge. He could make quick decisions in the fields, but it wasn’t his call if they went out in the first place. Except for that one day.

Smugglers haven’t noticed the team of spies on the roof of a nearby building, but they did notice a car that wasn’t theirs stationed too near to their perimeter. They didn’t even ask questions, just started shooting. Phil’s handler was dead even before he get a chance to sound alarm to the base and that meant that they were on their own. Teams like theirs were usually written off for death later, when the base finally realized that they were in enemy territory without any back-up and without a chance to get one. Phil Coulson just finished his academy, got his own team and had big plans to get up on the ladder of the agency. He was not going to just die in the field.

The decision was quick. They were going to be more careful, but they were going to finish this mission and they were going home. No other option. Order was clear, if you run out of ammo, use anything that you can get your hands on and don’t die no matter what. So when he go cornered into one of the offices by a thug with a shotgun, his right arm broken and gun holster empty, he just listened to his own order. The pen was slick in his bloody fingers, but his grip was tight and sure when he thrust the pointed end into the guy’s eye-socket, pushing it in harder with a ball of his hand and driving it into the brain with a sick squelch.

Only him and one more agent got out of that warehouse that night, getting away in a stolen jeep and praying to anyone that would listen that they got to the safe house in time. It was one of the many times him and Maria saved each other’s lives and she always denied to go on missions that he wasn’t on from now on. It was nice to have a partner, even if he got her in such dire circumstances. But the mission was a success, the file with intel they needed put safely into Fury’s hands and they both laughing in the medical with sheer relief of being alive.

2.

Cairo was hot this time of the year, humidity making him sweat more than he would otherwise. It was his seventh year at shield and he was newly promoted to being head field operative. His first mission was to go out into the dessert and free the soldiers that rebels were holding in their camp. Only they found out already on the plane that they had snake between them, enemy combatants leveling their weapons at them just after the take-out. Phil gritted his teeth together and surrendered his weapons, keenly aware of how much he didn’t really needed them if the occasion to get free presented itself.

He wished Maria was there.

What he miscalculated was the fact that the Kin Sher soldiers, and really, where did they get all these ridiculous names, would put them together with their prisoners, tortured and interrogated, but keep alive. It seemed that they were under the impression that it would be a waste of resources and the first thing they did after entering the camp was to shoot his whole team, leaving him standing only because of his leadership. He looked down on the faces of his agents, most of them with still open eyes, looking at the sky in surprise, and felt the cool certainty, that no matter what happens, he will not give these bastards anything they wants and he will free the soldiers. Even if he was going to pay for it with his life.

He sat tied to the chair in the interrogation tent, all his belongings but for the underwear long gone. The man who was asking him questions has long since left and Phil could feel icy wind at his back, a sure sign that the night was coming. He shifted and felt his ribs rattle worriedly in his chest. He was pretty sure they were broken, and that only meant that he had to hurry if he was going to do anything about his situation.

What he needed was to get out of the ropes. Possibly now, when the dusk was coming and the guard was changing lazily, Kins not worried much about being attacked in their own camp. Fools. His ribs might pose a considerable problem now, but better risk some internal damage than just die in the hands of the enemy. He took a deep breath and started bending forward slowly, his muscles relaxing and flexing. And he was laughing at Maria when she took him to her yoga classes. Biting through the rope around his knees wasn’t easy or pleasurable, but he managed to did it, the cord snapping and loosening the grip on his forearms, which gave him enough free room to dislocate his thumb and free his hands completely.

He could feel blood seeping from between his teeth, his gums torn and hurting, but it was one more thing to be put on till later. Till he manages to get out of that wretched camp finally. He made a quick work of his ankles and stood right behind the flap to the tent when he could see bulky shape posing, supposedly guarding him. Useless muscle, if he was any good at his job he’d look in the first time Phil as much as moved a muscle. He missed SHIELD. It was laughingly easy to cover the soldier’s mouth with a flap and snap his neck in a way that caused immediate death to the man. That provided Phil with momentary disguise, at least till the point when they discovered the dead man and realize what happened. He was hoping to be at least half into his mission by then.

The cell when they kept American soldiers was almost empty by then, captured men either killed or dead from the exhaustion and untreated wounds. They didn’t even guard it anymore, so sure that the men inside were too weak to try anything. They were probably right, but they didn’t know what Phil was capable of doing alone. Picking of the lock was easy with the tools he acquired from his kill and the men drifted out of the cell, confused but willing to do anything to get out of that place.

They were in no state to engage in combat and Phil didn’t come to save them and then lead them to their death. He would gladly lay destruction to the monsters that killed his team, but he knew his priorities and vengeance wasn’t even close to the top of the list. They snuck out of the camp and managed to go undetected even after the alarm sounded. He didn’t know to what deity he should be grateful for that, but he was going to accept the gift for what it was.

Halfway to the point when Phil was almost sure he could find some friendly natives and some communicator they encountered another rescue team lead by Maria. He was forbidden from leaving the medical weeks afterwards and Hill was close to breaking his neck herself for the length of time he made her worry, but he was okay with all that. He accomplished his mission and he got out of it alive. It was all that mattered.

3.

Phil started to understand what it was to worry about field operatives right around the time when he got to be Clint Barton’s handler. Hawkeye wasn’t easy to deal with on a daily basis, when there was no danger and mission to distract him. More so, he was complete pain in Phil’s ass and if it wasn’t for the fact that everyone else flat refused to even get close to the agent, he would file for reassignment long time ago. But the fact was they couldn’t afford to lose someone like Barton to anyone. The guy was smart, fast, and what more he was an excellent sniper. And excellent spy. Sometimes he was too good, keeping too many secrets about the mission that Phil found out about much later and had to explain to Fury why he didn’t know about it in the first place.

He could hardly admit that his protégé was being too difficult for him to handle. Nothing was too much for Phil Coulson, and he wasn’t going to let Barton be that first thing. Not going to happen.

He knew he had really only himself to blame, because he was the one who found out about Hawkeye and made it his life mission to recruit him as Agent of SHIELD. He didn’t expect to be saddled with the guy for all the eternity, or for said guy to be an arrogant, narcissistic jerk who outside of missions preferred to act like an empty-headed frat boy. Or slink through air vents and shoot his fellow agents with rubber arrows, which was probably much worse. Even if that amused Phil a little. Point was, his behavior was very unprofessional and it was Phil’s job to finally make him realize it and stop being, well, him.

It all came to head when Barton didn’t come back from one of his recon missions and his communicator was giving only white static. Phil closed his eyes and tried not to remember that one of his first missions and losses they had. He lost the battle spectacularly. He was forbidden from going after his agent, the shared consensus being that it’s more logical to lose one agent instead of two. But Barton got under his skin somehow during all these months he was being a little shit and Phil Coulson didn’t leave his friends to die if he could help it.

Barton was held in an empty warehouse, chained to the chair and unconscious. He wasn’t very visibly hurt so the chances were he was just drugged which made Phil’s work that much more difficult but some tension from his shoulders dissipate anyway. No one was watching him for now and Phil crept in through the window and down the support beam, making sure the door was locked and barricaded before he even started to think about the actual rescue. He should have probably thought about this before, but he was in too much hurry to check if his agent is still alive to worry about anything else.

There was one option for them and that was a window. He knew Barton could climb like no other, but he wasn’t sure about the guy’s skills while drugged to the gills. They would just have to see. The chains were more tied together than linked with anything useful like a locker, which made Phil frown at the incompetency of someone who kidnapped his best agent. He thought Barton could handle himself better than that.

He let Hawkeye doze still against the wall and took out his gun and few gadgets he carried in his pockets. A handkerchief, powder from his bullets, few rubber bands, his tie pin and a lighter, and he had a make-do little explosive that would maybe let the enemy think they lost their captive instead of letting him escape and gave Phil few valuable minutes to get Barton to the car. Clint proved to be at least half-lucid after Phil woke him up which was very good and proved to be just enough to get the man through the window. He was managing walking worse than climbing, but once on the ground it was easier to just sling him over Phil’s shoulder in fireman carry and run to the car.

He got a professional reprimand and was forbidden from seeing Barton in medical, but he figured it was worth it to get his agent back. For some reason there was no more secrets in mission reports from now on which he counted as a bonus of the whole situation.

4.

Tying cherry stem into a knot was childishly easy and he really didn’t understood why people thought it impressive. The carousel was harder, it required attention and focus and long minutes of silence, but it wasn’t impossible. Maria laughed at him every time he complained about young agents betting against each other and wasting so many good cherries in trying and failing to do something as simple. She had no sympathy for him and usually just gave him more paperwork so he had something to do instead of glaring at poor newbies and scaring them into abandoning any fun they could think about.

Barton dared him to prove that he can do it. He scowled at the agent and told him to go the fuck to the medical, Hawkeye’s left arm waving limply at his side and a gash on his forehead slowly bleeding into his eyes. The agent huffed something that Phil preferred not to hear ever again and obeyed the order. He wouldn’t be himself though if he just dropped the case and the next day saw Clint standing determinedly before Phil’s desk with a bowl of ripe, Californian cherries, which someone had to tell the bastard were Phil’s favourites. Damn Maria.

The office was locked and without fingertip and retinal scan it couldn’t be opened so Phil just surrendered himself to the knowledge that Barton finally figured out which vents were the easiest way to Phil’s offices. Jolly. They stared at each other from across the room, none wanting to give any ground for what Phil realized later was almost an hour. Maybe he really didn’t appreciate enough how patient his hawk could be.

He surrendered finally with a sigh, not because he couldn’t prolong the stupid game if he wanted to, but because he needed to get some of the forms he was filling to Fury in few hours, and he really didn’t have time for this. He took the bowl from the grinning Clint who perched happily on the edge of his desk, and sat comfortably in his chair before even turning to the younger man. The first cherry was simply eaten, the rich flavor flooding his tongue with the perfect balance of sweetness and juicy sourness and he moaned softly with satisfaction. If nothing else, Barton knew how to chose his fruit.

Another one ended with its stem tied into a simple knot and he can admit it was pretty good to see Barton’s eyes widening, other man almost certainly thinking that Phil was bluffing when he thought he can do it. The carousel was more tricky and he had to start over one more time when one the stems proved to be too weak and snapped inside his mouth. He wasted almost twenty minutes, realizing with displeasure that he might be getting out of shape with this, before he could present the full shape to Barton.

There was one tense moment when Clint went completely, utterly still, his face becoming expressionless mask that Phil was more accustomed to on the mission than in the Hellicarrier, before the man just put his face in his hands and groaned as if he was in great pain. Phil supposes the feeling of defeat might do that to a man. Not that he would know, he had a custom of not getting into situations when he had a chance to lose.

He almost proposed to the man to stay and share the cherries with Phil, they were really good and he didn’t want to give them up just yet, even if he completed the challenge, but before he realized what happened, Clint was slinging into the vent and disappearing from sight, moving a little stiffly and murmuring under his breath something in Romani that Phil didn’t really understood.

He shrugged and popper another cherry into his mouth before pulling the to-be-filled forms closer to him. At least he got some prize from the whole situation even if he was going to be a little late with his papers.

5.

Moscow was cold. That wasn’t saying much as Moscow was rarely warm, but Phil thought it was very important that the fact would be stressed as much as possible in every mission report anyone will ever read. They should stop sending their agents there without winter wear and expect them to finish the mission quickly and efficiently. Barton was really lucky that he had Phil for a handler or he would be freezing his ass off long time ago.

They were sitting on the roof of abandoned soviet factory and waited for the meeting that was supposed to take place inside in few hours when it would be closer to midnight. They had to keep close to not get noticed and to keep as warm as possible, tight jackets and lack of scarves or normal gloves making it hard to stay comfortable in the icy winds. Phil would gladly kill for a cup of a hot gingerbread latte. And to be at home. He slanted a look at Barton and cringed at how blue the man’s lips looked. Maybe he would get his protégé with him, they could sit near the fireplace and maybe it could be finally proven that Clint can be silent if you feed him enough cake.

Something begun to stir around dusk, the hosts arriving to get the place ready. It was some kind of weapon exchange, Phil wasn’t exactly very interested in details, they were unimportant to their mission. Really, to Hawkeye’s mission, since he should be sitting in the van two streets over and keep an electrical eye on his charge, but hell if he was going to let Barton fly into A-level mission alone again. Fury can eat his eye-patch.

The mission was simple, but it was deadly dangerous. The man speaking in low Russian beneath them were insignificant. Who was important was a woman sitting in the corner of the first story landing, her hair crimson red and tied into a tight bun on her neck. They didn’t know her name, no one had, all they knew was that people called her Black Widow and it was quite apt, because she was the best assassin for hire there was. Phil glanced at the man poised silently at his side and smirked to himself. She was lucky she didn’t have the competition in the field anymore.

She was good. She moved before any of them had a chance to blink, swinging over the railing gracefully and landing right on the crate that the second group of guests were moving in, ideally between Korbachev and Muschik, her two supposed targets. He doesn’t have time to warn Clint against the little stun guns on her wrists before the man is through the glass window they were seating nearby and swinging right at her from a grappling hook.

Phil curses and swings down from the line when Barton finally releases it, engaged in the battle with the redheaded woman, and wonders when did his life became so complicated that he’s already thinking of the ways to talk Fury into recruiting the would-be-assassin. Hawkeye isn’t fighting with the intention to kill, Phil knows that much, and he can’t help but glare at the back of his charge while raising his hands in placating manner and explaining in fluent Russian that they can go with their business as planned, they will just capture their Spider and be out of the way.

He’s not exactly surprised when instead of listening they draw their weapons at him. And that’s why he wasn’t going to let Hawkeye go on this mission alone. He got a bullet to the shoulder before he managed to take out even half of the men present and he had to duck behind the support beam and think of some kind of strategy. He couldn’t see Clint or the woman by that point and he didn’t like it at all. He was pretty sure Barton was better than her and could handle himself, but Phil has always been deeply aware that he’s not all-knowing. Cairo proved it to him like nothing else could.

He’s not exactly worried, it would be stupid to be. He had enough on his head with people shooting at him, but there was some concern about the fact if covering Barton’s back would even be worth it in the end. He threw a grenade in the direction of the mysterious crate and didn’t have to wait for long before the warehouse was changed into a depths of hell. Judging by the size of explosion and the fact that even protected as he was, Phil was thrown across the space into a wall, told him that for some reason they were trading new Stark Industries weapons.

Fury should probably take a look into that.

He really hoped Clint didn’t get killed.

Phil stumbled out of the fire, most of his clothes nothing more but singed rags, coughing and gagging on the acidic smoke and promptly vomited on the snow outside. He was just glad he didn’t stand any closer to the crate or he would end up like the Russians, almost impossible to recognize as former humans. He could feel blood seeping somewhere into his hair and he knew logically that the hit he took into the wall probably left him with a concussion, but it wasn’t time to worry about that. His gun was gone, as was his communicator, he had literally no way to get Barton know where he was.

He would have to find the damn man himself. The car looked expensive, but Phil had too big of a headache to think about what kind exactly it was. What mattered was that it was pretty easy to hotwire and no one would miss it anymore. His vision was blurry and he knew he shouldn’t be standing up anymore, not even thinking about driving a vehicle, but his agent might be in danger and he was not going to leave him.

He found Barton two blocks over, the woman tied up and arguing in low Russian, but not looking as if she was going to take a break for it. Good, he so disliked having to chase his own agents. Hawkeye looked up at him and then turned into direction when the smoke and amber sky showed clear evidence of what had happened in the warehouse and cringed guiltily. It was all the apology Phil would get and he acknowledged it with a nod. He moved over to the passenger seat, their captive going into the back and Barton driving, letting himself finally relax and mumble SHIELD’s rules to the woman of a name Natasha, letting her know what are the things that agents need to remember.

Fury did ate his eye-patch when he saw them. It was probably sheer frustration.

 

1.

Phil can tell a lot of things about himself, but he would never call himself oblivious. But when Clint leans over him from where he’s laying on the couch when Phil packs presents on the floor and kisses him full on the mouth, he can genuinely say that he didn’t see it coming. Clint laughs at his face, because Clint likes to laugh at times when he can throw Phil out of his game, but he can see the tightness between the man’s eyes. If Phil didn’t expect that, then there’s a question about his reaction.

He pulls Barton down into a deeper kiss and muses that maybe he should work a little on being more self-aware. It wouldn’t do much to be caught unaware again.


End file.
